Monday, 11 April 2011

The Jet Beads

The jet beads were treasure

To my teenage eyes

Sombre in the shadows

Of market stall trash

I claimed them like a bird

Proud they were mine

I wore the jet beads

Around my waist with them I would dance

And the jet beads wore me

In a picture I am who I most wanted to be

Calm inside

My cold string of darkness

My face like the moon

My hair dyed to mirror their colour

Midnight blue, alpine green, and black

My style changed

But I kept them

Until one day

I cut my string of jet beads

And gave half to my lover

It's left unsaid

But we realise

They are only glass.


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